‘Yes.’
‘In what room?’
‘The bedroom, same as when I came back.’
‘In bed?’
‘Sitting up.’
‘Was she planning on getting dressed?’
Parker shrugged. ‘Maybe a robe or something. She was going to fry some eggs.’
‘She was planning to leave the bedroom.’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you lock the door when you left?’
‘It’s a spring lock, locks automatically. I shut it all the way.’
‘You’re sure of that.’
‘Yes.’
‘All right. How long were you back in the apartment before the two police officers arrived?’
‘Just a minute or two. I just walked into the bedroom, saw her there, looked around, and there they were.’
‘You told them you’d made the anonymous phone call. Why?’
‘They figured me for the killer. I wanted to give them a choice.’
‘But how did you know there was a phone call?’
‘I didn’t. But two cops walk in, somebody probably called. And if they got the tip some other way, that could still throw them off balance, give them the idea I’d already notified headquarters for them.’
‘Why did you wait and talk awhile? Why not run for it right away? Did you have to wait for them both to be distracted or something?’
Parker said, ‘I already told you that. When I saw the guns, I knew there was trouble. The guns in the closet.’
‘You didn’t know about them.’
‘No.’
‘All right, never mind that. Who introduced you to Ellen Canaday?’
‘A guy with an alibi.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘I’d like to check him off my list.’
Parker shook his head. ‘No soap,’
Dougherty considered, then shrugged and smiled. ‘Well, that’s all right. You’ve got nothing to offer me? Nothing I forgot to ask?’
‘You’re doing fine,’ Parker told him.
‘I’m not so sure. Okay, come on along upstairs.’
Parker let Dougherty lead the way. Upstairs had the feeling of a house normally full and unexpectedly empty. The rooms seemed to hum with emptiness.
They went through a tiny bright white kitchen with Dougherty’s dinner cold on a white plate on the red formica top of a kitchen table with tubular chrome legs. Then through a dining room filled to the brim by a maple table and chairs, and through a little square of leftover space where the stairs went up to the second floor, and on into the magazine littered living room.
There was a closet near the front door, and Dougherty opened it and took out a baggy suitcoat that matched the baggy trousers he was wearing. From its inside pocket he removed a black notebook and handed it to Parker. ‘First page,’ he said.
Parker opened the notebook. On the first page front and back, were nine male names. Five of the names included addresses. Next to three of the names were little checks. Dan Kifka’s name wasn’t there at all.
Dougherty said, ‘You need paper? Pencil?’
‘Yes.’
‘Come along.’
Dougherty led the way back to the dining room, while Parker, following him, riffled quickly through the rest of the black notebook and found all the pages blank.
There was a glass-doored secretary standing crammed into a corner of the dining room. Dougherty got a pencil and sheet of yellow paper from this and put them on the maple table.
Parker stood to transcribe the names and addresses. The room was too small and jumbled for him to want to pull one of the chairs away from the table and sit down. When he was finished transferring all the names and addresses and check marks to the paper he said, ‘What do the marks mean?’
